


The Streets Of London

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a fair maiden should not take a man's words for granted, even if said man is Prince Hal</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Streets Of London

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a recent viewing of the BBC mini-series "The Hollow Crown," most notably "Henry IV, Part One," and Tom Hiddleston's upcoming role as a vampire in "Only Lover's Left Alive." (I can only blame being sick with the 'flu at the time of writing for such random mash-ups of fandoms and whatnot.) 
> 
> This fic also marks the first time since performing in "A Midsummer's Night's Dream" at college, that I have done anything remotely Shakespearean, so I'm hoping I'm at least twenty miles (leagues? :p ) within the vicinity of coming close to the proper language and whatnot. XD

The hush of night was on the streets, moon bathing dark silver light over London. It had been raining in times recent past, cooling waters dripping and drenching over everything and turning the streets to mud and puddles, slopping beneath the young Menolly's booted feet. Those boots seem ill equipped for the prior rain and the puddles, muddy water seeping through the leather until her feet ached with the wet and the cold of it all. Still, she trudged on, knowing that she still had, as yet, to return home, having performed her latest task of relaying urgent messages to the visiting Earl of Winchester for her mistress. 

Rowdy voices came from the street behind her, male,drawing closer and singing bawdy songs that were fit for pubs and houses of ill repute. Even though Menolly herself was not high-born, still she blushed and hung her head at such bawdy revels that assaulted her ears. Dark hair, damp from the tail end of the rain, hung forward to hide her gaze, steps slowing in order to allow the drunken males to pass her, to hopefully leave her be if she appeared as unobtrusive as possible. Unfortunately, one of the passing men noticed her all the same, and hailed her, voice sounding somewhat familiar although she couldn't immediately place it beneath the veneer of wine and watered down beer that smothered it. 

“Ho there, young lady, are thee perchance lost?” cried the voice.

Menolly looked up, knowing there was little choice left for her now but to at least acknowledge her addresser, to perhaps send him on his way without much fuss or bother. To her surprise, the voice that she'd almost recognized belonged to Prince Hal, heir apparent to the throne of England, surrounded by his usual cronies of ill repute, Poins, Falstaff and other faces she was familiar with, if not with their names, exactly. 

“Aye, I am speaking to thee, fair pretty one,” Prince Hal said, as he stepped closer, boots sloshing through the puddles beneath his feet. 

Behind him., Falstaff slipped in a matching shining mirror of water, and almost took a spill. He caught himself just in time, and shook off Poins' steadying hand haughtily, as though it was beneath him to acknowledge the fact that he'd needed help. 

“I am not lost, Your Grace,” Menolly replied, ducking her head shyly at being addressed by such a Prince as Hal. “I am merely headed home, to Pudding Lane.” 

“Pudding Lane, thee say? That is not too far out of my own fair walk, pretty mistress. Would thee care to have one such as I accompany you, this fair and moonlit evening?” Prince Hal asked, grandly holding one arm out for her to slip her own arm through.,

“Nay, kind sir, I cannot presume to impose on your Fair Grace's good nature tonight,” Menolly said, refusing to take Prince Hal's arm. “My walk is not a strenuous one. I assure thee I can make it on mine own, without fair help from thee.”

Prince Hal turned and gestured grandly to his laughing friends, hands stretched wide and lifted high by his sides, shoulders shrugging beneath his wine red jerkin. 

“She wants me not, dear fellows. What is a fair prince to do against those odds, might I ask thee?” he asked, before turning back to face Menolly. “Might I entreat you to rescind your offer, dear mistress? Thine might not know what horrors lurk in the shadows in London streets.” 

“I can assure thee I might well know what horrors lurk between here and mine home,” Menolly said, primly, smiling despite herself. 

“Dost thee now? Have thee not heard of the vampire killer that haunts these streets? Dost thou not require protection from that foul and perilous beast of the night?” Prince Hal asked, a clear and humorous twinkle in his eyes. 

“I thinkst thou mock me, kind sir,” Menolly rejoined, already giggling at the mischievous Prince. “I think there is no such thing as the vampire killer and that thee jest with me.” 

“Dost thou think I jest? How dost thou wound me, mistress,” Prince Hal said, as he clutched his chest, slender fingers clasping the space above his heart. “I am a Prince, and I assure thee, I cannot jest. Mine word is as good as law in London.” 

“Best doest as thine master says, mistress,” Poins countered. “Hal wouldst not leave thee alone, otherwise.” 

“He doth speak the truth,”Hal agreed, cordially when Menolly looked to him. “I should hound you through the streets, until thee are at thine door, just to knowest thou are safe.” 

Menolly could see, despite Hal's laughing eyes, that he was serious. Her already crumbling resolve weakened still further; she knew that if she allowed the heir apparent to walk her home, then she would have great tales to tell once ensconced before the fire at her mistress' home.

“Then I shall accept your kind offer, your Grace. Wouldst thou doest me the honour of escorting me to mine door?” Menolly asked, grinning at the exultant Hal. 

“It would be my greatest honour, pretty one, if thee would permit me to do so,” Hal said, before he turned to shoo his friends away. “Begone with thee, thou blaggards and drunks. I see I have the honour of escorting a pretty maiden home, and I should like to do it on mine own, if it pleases you.” 

“Methinks it would please you more than it would please the likes of us, dear sir,” Falstaff chimed in, with a hasty hiccup. 

Hal pretended not to hear his friend's acerbic comment; instead he turned away and again offered Menolly the use of his arm. That time she took it, feeling the well worked leather slide beneath the skin of her palm. Hal grinned down at her and it was only then that she realised just how much taller than her the Prince actually was. 

“Lead on, fair maiden; time is a wasting, for thee never knowest which corner the ferocious vampire killer be hiding behind,” Prince Hal said, grandly, as he stepped out beside Menolly.

“Methinks thee still be jesting with me, Your Grace,” she laughed, still not believing Hal's words. 

“Nonsense. I do not jest and now that mine friends are out of earshot, thou may callest me Hal, for that is my name and I would care that you use it,” he said, with a wink down at her. “And what shall I callest thou?” 

“Menolly. Mine name is Menolly,” she replied, a little shyly.

“Well, then, fair Menolly, let us depart down this darkened street. It is a shortcut I know to Pudding Lane,” Hal said, as he led her down the street in question, puddles sloshing beneath their feet and sending refracted echoes back from vaunted walls. 

Menolly glanced about her, wondering where Hal was taking her; the street was unfamiliar to her, yet it seemed as though it headed in the wrong direction from Pudding Lane. Still, she remained silent on the subject, deciding to trust the Prince, because of who he was. The darkness seemed to stretch forever before them, and it didn't take long for Hal to slow to a halt. Menolly had no choice but to come to a halt beside him, hand trapped in Hal's own and arm pinned against the man's side. Hal turned slightly, to glance behind and before him, nodding to himself once he was certain they were completely alone. He turned his glance down towards her and for one instant, she thought his eyes, previously a mischievous blue, shone red for the briefest of seconds. Hal sighed, as though whatever he was about to do pained him greatly.

“Thou should never take a strange man's word for granted, Menolly,” he said, clucking sorrowfully down at her. 

“But thou art not a strange man. Thou art the Prince of Wales. I knowest thee from court,” Menolly told him, a little baffled by Hal's words. 

“That does not mean a whit in the dark of night, prithee,” Hal said, his head hanging down so that his hair hung slightly in his face, obscuring it from Menolly's immediate view. “Thou should not trust one such as I.” 

Before Menolly could speak and question the Prince further, Hal lifted his head, turning the most fearful grin that Menolly had ever seen upon her. In place of teeth, were fangs glistening in the darkened night. Menolly barely had time to draw enough breath to scream before Hal struck, fangs sliding easily into the flesh of her throat and she knew no more, forever lost in the blissful release of a vampire's kiss.


End file.
